


Message Me

by Bugggghead



Category: Archie Comics, Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Online Dating, Bughead meet online, F/M, Fangirl!Betty, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Online Friendship, Online Relationship, Online Romance, Phone Sex, Teasing, Tumblr AU, Tumblr messaging, gifmaker!Betty, irl smut, just smutty smut smut, okay so it now has smut, writer!Jug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-05-26 05:26:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14993765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bugggghead/pseuds/Bugggghead
Summary: A multichapter Tumblr AU featuring gif queen Betty and fanfic author Jughead. Requested by @betty-cooper as a thank you for my beautiful icon and header.





	1. (not so) anonymous

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katieeeeexx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katieeeeexx/gifts).



> Thanks to toryb & betty-cooper for all of their help along the way. Thanks to @peyton_0727 for being my fantastic beta for this story. Hope you all enjoy!

*

  
  
  


“Oh, shit,” Betty mumbled, the telltale blue square hanging over her favorite writer’s icon, waiting in her inbox when she finally logged on to Tumblr for the first time in days. 

 

It was Friday night and Betty was utterly exhausted. Overworked and underpaid didn’t even begin to describe her day to day life. Being a children’s author was rewarding in a lot of ways, but monetarily was rarely one of them. Betty Cooper had been writing and illustrating children’s fiction for over ten years, beginning as simply a hobby to entertain her twin niece and nephew when they were barely a year old. 

 

Juniper and Dagwood Cooper were the children of her sister Polly who wound up pregnant and unwed in high school. She had the twins at the mere age of 18 and had been relegated to live in their mother’s house since then due to her limited options. Betty picked up all the slack she could when the children were young, hoping to lighten her sister’s daily burden. It was a bit of a scandal in their town when Polly showed up eight months pregnant claiming to have escaped from some farm that sounded far more like a cult than she cared to admit. The father of the baby was speculated to be everyone from the ‘leader’ of the not-a-cult himself all the way to a one night stand. Truthfully, few people knew it was actually Jason Blossom, the child of Riverdale’s richest resident and heir to the Blossom family fortune.

 

Betty wasn’t sure exactly what happened, but she guessed, from what she had pieced together over the years, that Jason vehemently suggested abortion and dumped Polly on the spot. If that were the case, Betty understood why her sister had remained tight-lipped about the affair.

 

Over the summers, during and after high school, Betty would spend hours on end with the two children, drawing them pictures and telling them stories. As the kids grew up, their reading sessions migrated from the Cooper’s living room to the public library where Betty drew a crowd with her simple stories and artfully drawn designs to accompany them. 

 

Betty considered herself a jack of all trades, but a master of none. She did draw here and there and sketched the characters that ran circles through her mind, sometimes even going so far as to animate them. However, none of those things were as perfect as she would have liked and she supposed being mediocre, or even just above average, at any of them was better than not at all. She was an arsenal of useful skills from being able to rebuild an engine to staying up all night giffing various scenes from her favorite shows and movies. 

 

Using her hands in one way or another, accompanied with stimulating her mind, was the ultimate addiction for her. It made sense that both working on cars and writing short stories checked that box - at least to her - and that was all that mattered, she reasoned.

 

One hot July day, Betty had drawn at crowd at the Riverdale library, a few volumes into her series about the twin Prince and Princess of Riverbend and all of their adventures. A few months earlier she had been asked to host a get together for parents of small children who had become fond of her stories. That particular day though, parents weren’t the only ones attending. A publisher from a small company a few towns over watched her bring her stories to life in front of the enraptured eyes of Riverdale’s youngest residents. 

 

A few weeks later, she submitted her most polished copies to his publishing house and had a deal within days. Now, at 28 years old, Betty was modestly successful with a few accolades under her belt and her bills were paid, with a little bit of savings in the bank. She wasn’t wealthy by any means, the salary for a children’s author was relatively modest, but she was comfortable. Ten books sat on her shelf, the name E Coop printed on the spine. Ten was a lot considering she had only been officially published for two years and her never-ending deadlines kept her in front of her computer screen more often than she would like. 

 

But the computer wasn’t all bad. On days when she was ahead of her deadlines, she allowed herself to open up another browser, allowed her rigid habits to bend a bit and venture outside of the one screen filled with her work in progress that remained opened nearly all the time. It wasn’t that Betty couldn’t multitask, being so many things to so many people her entire life had allowed her to develop that skill with ease. But regimens were necessary and self discipline came easy to her; so when she was working, she allowed herself zero distractions outside of the task at hand. 

 

On those rare occasions she granted herself permission to journey outside of the plain screen, she wound up on Tumblr, scrolling through profiles and dipping in and out of fandoms. Her primary fandom, the one her username paid homage to her icon emphasized was Sunnyside’s Secrets. It had been a guilty pleasure of hers to immerself herself in the stories designed for young adults full of dynamic characters and epic adventures. Lord of the Rings had been one of Betty’s favorite series and she found herself comparing F Jones’ style and stories to that of Tolkien. Both series’ adventures were carefully catalogued in a world artfully crafted in such depth that sometimes she felt as if she was right there as she read along. Jules was a strong lead character with a take no shit attitude that Betty envied. She was flawed and imperfect in the absolute best ways. 

 

Sunnyside’s Secrets had quite a following on Tumblr; the ‘family’ page had over thirty thousand members and the canon monikers were said to be valued at obscene amounts of real money for virtual identities. Some of the authors in the fandom could rival Rowling herself with their stories. 

 

One author, her favorite in the fandom, was relatively famous in that particular corner of the internet. His work always garnered thousands of kudos within a single chapter and users showered him with praise, even between the longest updates, citing they were always worth it in both content and word count. ReubenJones was his username, the same name of the series’ narrator. Based on his blog length, it appeared he had the handle long before the fandom exploded. He was an institution in the fanfic world for Sunnyside’s Secrets and he was recommended daily on various blogs. Betty considered him to be a bit more than simply fandom famous, she thought he was an idol.

 

Betty had been on Tumblr since her days in high school, amassing a total of two accounts, one personal and one filled with multi-fandom nonsense. Her personal page was a mash up of everything from her original poetry to dark excerpts from points in her life she’d rather forget to some artsy personal pictures, albeit a tad risque, she had posted as a part of her sexual curiosity in her early twenties. Rightfully, she knew she should delete all of it. Her name was decently well known and even though CardiganCutie wasn’t exactly identifiable, they were still her pictures and thoughts buried deep down in that page. Her face wasn’t anywhere to be found but every other part of her could be seen through the posts she shared. 

 

Her poetry revealed parts of her soul that even she didn’t understand, the pictures showing her body, in all its imperfect state, despite the comments stating otherwise, and her entries glimpsed parts of her mind she would be ashamed of if they ever reached the public’s eyes. Putting so much personal information on such a public platform was empowering for Betty, allowing herself to really show others who she was underneath the taut ponytail and soft sweaters. Even though no one knew it was her, the satisfaction of sitting behind a computer, with her life laid out for anyone to see, made her feel as if a weight was lifted off her chest. Every like or reblog, message or ask that made it her way enriched her gratitude for the opportunity to show herself, even when veiled with a pseudonym and a picture of a flower. 

 

Betty’s fandom blog, CrownJules, was relatively popular. Gifsets were the main attraction but she also posted well thought out meta discussions, even dabbling in a drabble here and there about her favorite fandom universe. It was equally embarassing with some of the tags she added to reposts about the series’ author. He was notoriously good looking and many of the users likened him to his characters, even going so far as to use his picture in fic aesthetics as Sunny Caulfield, the other main character, Jules’ love interest and lifelong best friend. 

 

It had been a few weeks since she had been on her personal page, but she flipped over to it, ignoring the hundreds of notifications from her most recent gifset of Sunnyside’s TV counterpart. The show was nowhere near as good as the books, though admitting that made Betty feel like a bit of a fandom purist; but it truly was her opinion. Despite the show’s shortcomings it was addicting nonetheless and the visuals provided her endless hours of video to edit and chop up to fit whatever scene she needed to create. 

 

Her most recent set, the one gaining notifications by the second, was one modified to fit ReubenJones’  latest chapter of his epic multi chapter, mature rated fic. It was set in the roaring twenties and filled to the brim with gangsters, speakeasies, and subtle sexiness. She was hopelessly addicted mere words into the first chapter and found herself spending hours making gifs for the spicier scenes. 

 

The notification hanging over CardiganCutie’s handle piqued her interest and she opened the blog, staring, mouth agape at a message from ReubenJones waiting in her inbox. Her heart started to pound in her chest as the expletive slipped from her lips and she held her breath as she clicked on the simple picture of a crown set against a black background and read his message.

 

_ “I just got an ask from this blog and it looks oddly familiar to ones I’ve received in the past. Your signature <3 - XX is affixed to the end but instead of a grayface, like I’m used to, I saw your peony above it.I know it’s been you all along and I respect your right to remain anonymous to the masses but I’m not going to lie and say I wasn’t excited to finally put a handle to those in depth chapter reviews and stunning gifsets you manipulated for the scenes. I’m honored, truly, and I’d be more than willing to become “tumblr friends” (whatever that really means) if you’re interested. Message me back if you get the chance. Thanks.” _

 

Betty exhaled forcefully, feeling herself begin to shake as she read and reread the message until the words were burning in her brain. She  _ had _ been sending in thoughtful reviews and custom gifsets to him for months, albeit always on anonymous and always from her fandom account. This time, however, she must have had a bit too much to drink when she uploaded her handiwork and sent it in. 

 

It was her worst nightmare coming to fruition. 

 

The ask was sent two days ago, on a particularly rough night when she buried herself deep in her laptop as she sipped on a glass of wine that turned into three before she was sobbing into her screen as she read the chapter. It had been by far the most poignant passage she had ever read for the fandom and she was instantly inspired to write her post. Typically, she sat on her creations for a day or two before submitting them but as the wine lowered her inhibitions she clicked submit before selecting the anonymous option.

 

The laptop clicked shut as Betty tried to even out her breaths, eventually working them down from gasps to pants. Inching back toward the laptop, she opened it slowly, as if it might shock her at any moment, more than the words on the screen already had. She read them again. And again. Soaking in his words and processing what it all meant. ReubenJones was fandom famous and notoriously standoffish. He didn’t have many ‘friends’ drop in his ask box or posts, instead most of his page was promotion for his stories and answered asks about his characters and fanfic arcs. She read the words once more, deciding to sleep on the message before making any moves.

 

Sleep never came as Betty tossed and turned, running through every scenario she could think of at his reaction. If he messaged her personal blog that meant he had seen what was on it, or at least had the opportunity to see what was on it. While the platform was empowering it was also intimidating and knowing he could see an actual part of her and not CrownJules was both terrifying and slightly thrilling. Maybe she could befriend him. As herself. Maybe he didn’t need to know her fangirl alterego.

  
  


*


	2. answer me (please)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, to my amazing beta @peaceblessingspeyton.  
> This chapter is entirely in Jughead's POV. I hope you like it!

*

 

Jughead Jones, or ReubenJones as he was known on Tumblr, was sitting on his laptop, his screen opened to the first draft of his next chapter when he heard the telltale ding of a message coming in. He groaned, hovering over the icon of the little envelope and opened his ask box. Staring at the screen for a few minutes, he was a bit confused.

 

He was used to getting asks, sometimes they were personal, asking for a pic or inquiries about his life outside of the internet. Other times they were about his fics, some short some long but more often than not they were asks urging him to update. Even if he had just posted a chapter, it never failed, an ask would show up in his inbox begging him for more. His favorite kind of asks were the ones he had been receiving like clockwork for the last few months. One particular fan, which he knew from the anonymous signature - <3 - XX - never failed to write long posts, pouring out her thoughts on every chapter he wrote. Whoever they were also submitted custom gifs made to pair with specific scenes.

 

So, that particular night, when the little blue box hung over the envelope, he wasn’t sure what to make of it. The post was fantastic, as always and had him reading and rereading the submission. But, this time, a tiny picture of a peony hung where the grayface typically sat. It was probably a mistake, he reasoned. Surely she didn’t mean to out her identity after months of remaining anonymous without so much as a line saying so.

 

He mulled over his options. The post was phenomenal and it propped up his plot points with excellent reasoning and flawless rationale. He didn’t want to delete it. Instead, he decided to message her, letting the ask hang in his box while he reached out to see if it was simply an oversight on her part. He couldn’t help but include mention of his awareness that her secret identity was blown.

 

_“I just got an ask from this blog and it looks oddly familiar to ones I’ve received in the past. Your signature <3 - XX is affixed to the end but instead of a grayface, like I’m used to, I saw your peony above it. I know it’s been you all along and I respect your right to remain anonymous to the masses but I’m not going to lie and say I wasn’t excited to finally put a handle to those in depth chapter reviews and stunning gifsets you manipulated for the scenes. I’m honored, truly, and I’d be more than willing to become “tumblr friends” (whatever that really means) if you’re interested. Message me back if you get the chance. Thanks.” _

 

Later that night, when he logged back in, hoping to find a message he was met with disappointment. There were other notifications and messages waiting but the peony in the far right corner remained bare. It did, however, have the little green dot indicating that she was online. Maybe she hadn’t read the message yet. Maybe she wasn’t sure how to respond. He knew it might be a bit intimidating to be notified of the blunder. Curiosity got the better of him and he clicked on her picture, diving into her blog and looking back through archived posts.

 

It had been over an hour by the time he resurfaced, now well aware his admirer had been female and quite creative herself. There were hundreds of short text posts, apparently her poetry. Some were downright prolific and his interest was piqued even further. There were also some photos that he admittedly stared at a bit too long. Most of the blogs that created original fan art were comprised entirely of posts about the show or the books or a bit of both, her’s was strangely barren of any mention. Maybe that’s why she was always anonymous. It seemed to be as good a reason as any, and after reading her poetry, he was embarrassingly intrigued. He checked again for a message, the little green circle now gone and saw his own note staring back at him, still unanswered.

 

When he fell asleep that night, with his laptop safely plugged in on the desk and his television bathing the room in a soft glow with ambient music filling the space, her words played through his mind for the hundredth time that night. One particular passage was haunting him and he couldn’t seem to shake it.

 

_Want me in every way that I come_

_Fractured or whole, shattered or shining_

_I want you the same_

_I will give you the same_

 

The next day was filled with revisions to his next novel. Jughead was actually the author of Sunnyside’s Secrets and the next installation in his series was nearly done, the deadline was looming as he waded through the edits and tweaked passages until he was satisfied. When he sent off the final draft that night, he was far too tired to venture onto Tumblr; but he did it anyway, against his better judgement, just to see if she had responded. She hadn’t. Still.

 

He closed the window and fell into a dreamless sleep within minutes. Once again in a dark bedroom, once again with soft music, and once again with her words dancing in his head.

 

_Want me in every way that I come_

_Fractured or whole, shattered or shining_

_I want you the same_

_I will give you the same_

 

By the third day, he was getting a bit frustrated. It was late that night when he got around to logging on, intending to upload his latest chapter for the alternate universe fic he was currently working on. It was similar to Sunnyside’s Secret in few ways outside of the basic characters and a few incorporated quotes here and there, but it was far more fun than writing and rewriting his latest novel.

 

Jughead found a level of comfort on Tumblr that he was quite frankly surprised about when it stated. Before his first book was even published, he claimed the moniker ReubenJones, the name of the narrator in the series, albeit a slightly pretentious move at the time. Reuben was his favorite kind of sandwich and the narrator was arguably his favorite character, so when it came time to name him, Jughead simply combined it with his last name and the narration flowed from his fingertips. He wrote from Reuben’s perspective so often that it mimicked his own thoughts from time to time. So, deciding on his screen name had been easy.

 

He merely lurked in the fandom at first, egged on by his publisher to gauge fans reactions on various social media sites. It was suggested that he search his tags for positivity on days when the professional reviews were rough, and observe from a distance how the general public was reacting. Once the first book released, the site exploded with new URLs, all slight variations of people, places, and quotes from the book. Fanfictions were posted within days and the tags page grew steadily by the minute for months on end.

 

He never intended to write fanfiction of his own series. It sounded ridiculous in theory and he knew it was even more ridiculous in practice, but the first time a scene he was arguably too attached to was cut from one of his drafts, he impulsively published it under his pseudonym. It was tagged canon compliant and he was an overnight sensation, receiving countless kudos and comments over the coming days and never needing to promote his own works, the fandom passing the links around like a hot potato.

 

The next time was a bit different, it was a single scene he wanted to write differently that never even made it to the final draft and it was also widely received. The comments always cracked him up.

 

 **_JunnyStan:_ ** _These scenes feel more real than the entire first book. Maybe you should write the series instead._

 

 **_julesisagoddess:_ ** _HOLY SHIT. This is the best thing I have EVER read. Have you ever thought about writing for a living because you just WRECKED MY LIFE. I hope you’re happy. Please never stop. I love being destroyed._

 

After a while he ventured into alternate universes, taking his precious characters on epic adventures through the decades and exploring them in ways his publishers would never allow. It was thrilling and Jughead lived for the few precious hours he spent on the site, watching the fandom obsess over the uncensored product of his own imagination and experiences.

 

Sunnyside’s Secrets was a combination of characters he constructed in his mind as a child, traits from his favorite characters, and small bits of the people he used to know. The events were entirely original but the group of friends he introduced were the kinds of people he wished he had in his life.

 

Jughead had it rough by basically every standard as a kid. Growing up as a statistic in a group home was hardly the ideal environment to foster creativity and imagination, instead stealing it more often than not. But Jughead found an escape in writing, in coming up with entire worlds, if just to escape his own depressing circumstances for even an hour or two at a time. The hobby turned into a career at a young age and now, in his late twenties, Jughead was considered, by most standards, widely successful, his series spinning off TV shows and untold amounts of merchandise.

 

As soon as the chapter was loaded, he went back to his messages, hovering over the peony before clicking on it. Her green circle was mocking him by her picture, the angry little thing just staring at him next to the distinct lack of a response from her.

 

Fuck it, he thought. His mind hadn’t strayed far from her words for days and he was entirely too curious to just leave well enough alone.

 

 **ReubenJones:** I know you’re online.

 

He sat, waiting for a response, reading and rereading the two messages in the chat before sending another, inviting her to talk to him.

 

 **ReubenJones:** Whoever you are, there’s no need to be embarrassed. I didn’t post the ask - though I’m guessing you knew that already. Feel free to send it again on anon and I will. I’ll also respond because your feedback is incredible.

 

One minute passed, then two, and by the time five total had passed, he messaged her again, the green circle still glaring at him next to the flower’s picture.

 

 **ReubenJones:** ...please?

 

Within seconds she finally responded with a simple message.

 

 **CardiganCutie:** Thank you

 

Two words. That’s all it was. No deeper meaning to be found. Was she thanking him for being nice about it? For messaging her instead of posting it? Or was she thanking him for the suggestion to resubmit? Not knowing what else to say, Jughead typed back a simple message.

 

 **ReubenJones:** You’re welcome

 

He cracked his knuckles, reading back the last few messages again and realizing it sounded like their conversation was over before it even began. _That just wouldn’t work,_ he thought.

 

 **ReubenJones:** Thank you again. For all of your messages both on and off anon.

 

He kicked himself, that sounded kind of stupid. Most people knew him to be a bit standoffish. Even in his replies to anons, he was rarely considered warm or anything even close to inviting. Maybe she had expected him to be an asshole. Overthinking the basic exchanges, he scrolled back up and read through the messages again, reaching the bottom with his still firmly seated as the last.

 

 **ReubenJones:** Are you going to talk to me? I offered tumblr-friendship. Isn’t that valuable?

 

 **CC:** LOL

       Aren’t you a little full of yourself?

 

 **RJ:** You’re the one writing me novels about my stories. I just wanted to be friends. But maybe I’m not good enough for you. Haha

 

 **CC:** You know sarcasm doesn’t travel well through text

 

 **RJ:** Well you seemed to get the point just fine

       It was the Haha. I know that helps.

 

 **CC:** LOL

       You’re kind of funny. I didn’t expect that. :)

 

They chatted steadily for hours, eventually working their way around to his stories and her gift with gifs and analyses. She told him she dabbled in writing in her real life and his interest was piqued further, if that was even possible.

 

 **CC:** I love your stories because they allow me to escape into the Sunnyside world in a way that the books don’t.

 

Jughead straightened in his chair, trying not to read too much into it as he brought a hand up to tug off his beanie, the same one he had worn since childhood. He combed his fingers through his hair as he read her message again.

 

 **CC:** Do you know what I mean?

 

He hesitantly dropped his fingers to the keyboard, leaving the crown shaped hat sitting on his desk and prepared for whatever he was about to say.

 

~~**RJ:** No. What do you mean? The books were intensely plot driven with character growth throughout. I thought they told a pretty thorough story~~

 

~~**RJ:** No. Tell me more. ~~

 

~~**RJ:** No. What didn’t you like about them? ~~

 

After deleting three responses, he decided to play along.

 

 **RJ:** Yes. I know exactly what you mean. I’d love to hear your thoughts.

 

It took a while before she answered, but the wall of text that came accounted for the long delay.

 

 **CC:** I love the books too. I love them SO much. If we didn’t have the series to start with, this fandom wouldn’t exist, so the books hold a special place in my heart. What I meant was that your fics seem to explore some pivotal moments that I, personally, feel should have been included in the original series. For example, the first one you published could have come straight out of the book itself. It was so well thought out and the characters spoke to me in a way that felt even more true to form than some lines in the later works. I don’t think the quality of the books has gone down, but since F Jones switched publishers and began cranking out books like they were going out of style, I feel like it’s gotten a bit kitschy. Does that make sense?

 

He read and reread her message a few times over, a smile tugging at his lips for no one to see because of her words. He did, in fact, know exactly what she meant, because he had been feeling the same way as of late. His new publisher was much more demanding and though the quality of work didn’t suffer, the ideas were getting more and more outlandish as the series went on. They wanted shock value and with each slight bend to their will, he felt his artistic integrity begin to slip away. Nothing was ever submitted half assed, he still wrote in style and kept the characters true to form, but the formative moments were getting to be few and far between and rather than being character driven plots, they were point driven plots. No one had ever put it so bluntly to him and laughed at the startling accuracy of her unknown observations.

 

 **RJ:** I do know what you mean and I couldn’t agree more

 

 **CC:** Oh thank god. LOL I was worried you thought I was a nutcase for a minute when you didn’t reply

 

 **RJ:** Well that’s still debatable

 

 **CC:** HEY! I thought you said you wanted to be friends. Friends are nice. That was not nice.

 

 **RJ:** Who says I’m a nice person? Lol

 

 **CC:** Your lol’s say you’re nice. And I think you just might be a little bit nicer than you try to appear. Just saying.

 

 **RJ:** Shhh… that’s supposed to be a secret.

 

 **CC:** Secrets are my speciality. My lips are sealed :)

 

 **RJ:** I am quite the secret keeper as well. Aren’t we a pair.

 

It was well past midnight by the time they said their goodbyes, promises to talk tomorrow were thrown around at the end and he sure hoped she wasn’t a flaky person. Their conversation was more than simply enjoyable, making him laugh at numerous points and keeping him actively engaged in a way people speaking right to his face rarely tended to.

 

After she logged off, the little green light now nowhere to be found, he ventured into her blog once more, selecting the ‘my writing’ tag and scrolling all the way to the bottom, back to the start, to her very first post and lost himself in her words again.

 

That night, another poem imprinted itself on his brain, the words on repeat between his ears, chanting like a mantra as he drifted off to sleep.

 

_Marvel at me, my love, like I am your ocean_

_Staring, enraptured, adrift in my essence_

 

 

_*_


	3. (are you) breathless?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you @peaceblessingspeyton (@peyton_0727) for looking this over for me <3

*

 

A few weeks had gone by and Betty still got giddy each time she had a notification on CardiganCutie’s name hovering on her page. They had been messaging nonstop and Jughead’s messages became the highlight of her day. Even when she couldn’t respond right away, he continued to send them, as if he knew she needed a small bit of relief at that exact moment.

 

Originally, she had expected him to be intimidating, or so well spoken that they wouldn’t even be able to hold a conversation. But she had been wrong. He was so far from what she expected that it was nearly laughable. They talked about anything and everything, their ages, where they lived - which was surprisingly only a few hours apart - his writing process, her job. The conversation flowed effortlessly and she rarely found herself without something to add, something to ask, or simply a witty comeback to the sarcasm that dripped off her screen from his messages. 

 

CrownJules was still incredibly active, her queue full to the brim with original content and her mentions going crazy, but she found herself actively on CardiganCutie’s profile more often than not, spending hours on end chatting with the surprisingly interesting ReubenJones. When she found out his real name was Jughead, she laughed the first time she read it, wondering if the message was going to be followed up with a correction. It wasn’t. He knew her as Betty, her common name but not her published one. While she was starting to trust him, the internet was truly a scary place and that blog in particular was filled with fragments of her soul. Somehow, giving him access to who she really was frightened her more than she cared to admit. Not everyone on the internet was crazy, she knew that, but she had also never grown close with someone like this so quickly.

 

One particular night after stumbling home from a bar her best friend dragged her to, Betty was still a bit buzzed; her cheeks were stained with the telltale flush from one too many margaritas and a general air of happiness radiated from her. The laptop was plugged in on her desk and she slipped into the chair clumsily, knocking her knee on the edge and tilting back a little too far before leaning forward to steady herself, giggling the whole time. 

 

Waiting in her messages were five unread notifications from none other than Jughead.

 

**RJ:** Hey. How’s your day going?

     Mine was shit

     I need some old Betty cheer to get me out of this funk

     I’m guessing you’ve been busy. Ignore my earlier rants. 

     I posted a new chapter. I hope you like it.

 

In thirty seconds flat she was drinking in the words of the penultimate chapter of his gangster fic. The one before had left her on a precarious cliffhanger between Sunny and Jules and despite her best efforts and trademark Cooper charm, he hadn’t given her a single spoiler. The chapter was hot to say the least. Sunny and Jules made up in the most delicious way and his descriptions had her cheeks flushed from more than just the alcohol as she went back to his messages and read them again with a smile on her face.

 

She thought about the man behind the words, wondering if just a few hours away he was sitting with a girlfriend, or potentially a wife, having dinner, watching a movie. Surely he was experienced. No one could write something like that without experience. They were around the same age, allegedly - one could  _ never _ be too sure on the internet- and being in their late twenties meant they were both probably pretty experienced.

 

Shaking her head, Betty brought her thoughts back to center, her chest heaving a little lighter as she sent him a message.

 

**CC:** Sorry you had a bad day  <3

 

He immediately responded.

 

**RJ:** It’s okay. Par for the course. How was yours?

 

**CC:** Shit. But it’s better now. Your new chapter was breathtaking.

 

She knew she was a bit emboldened by her current state, but she couldn’t think of another word to describe it that even slightly encompassed her thoughts after reading. It truly was breathtaking, in more ways than one.

 

**RJ:** Oh yeah? Are you breathless right now?

 

**CC:** I might be.

 

Betty chewed her bottom lip, smiling at the screen, thankful no one could see her dorky reaction to mildly flirting with a man she barely knew. Well, she actually felt as if she knew him pretty well, but they hadn’t met in person and she reasoned she could only know someone so well through the internet.

 

**RJ:** …

 

Betty giggled, releasing her lip as her fingers raced across the keyboard.

 

**CC:** Seriously! That chapter was simply incredible and it was the perfect mixture of sweet and sexy and soft and dirty and just… it was everything. Well done. ;)

 

**RJ:** I’m glad to have your stamp of approval.

 

**CC:** Always! Can I ask you something?

 

**RJ:** I don’t know. Can you? Are you capable? Haha

 

**CC:** I honestly don’t know lol

 

**RJ:** … what is it?

 

**CC:** It’s personal.

 

**RJ:** Now you have to ask.

 

**CC:** Where do you draw your inspiration for those steamy scenes? Your girlfriend/wife must be very lucky.

 

**RJ:** Are you really asking me this right now?

 

Betty’s breath hitched as she read back his message. Of course that question was too far. Of course he wouldn’t want to answer that. How fucking stupid was she, the buzz wore off as her panic set in, typing an retyping various responses that all seemed to fall a bit flat.

 

**RJ:** I’m single. If that’s what you were asking.

     But if not, then I draw my inspiration from a lot of things. There’s a touch of personal experience to be found in my words.

     What about you, Betty? I noticed you haven’t published a poem in a while on your personal blog. Did someone break your heart? Or have you found your happy ending irl?

 

Betty laughed, still recovering from the notion that it was possible the scene she had just read, the same one that left her hot and bothered in the wee hours of the morning on a Saturday could have possibly been based on the man she was currently talking to and his own sexual experiences.

 

The lingerie photos she uploaded years ago were just the beginning of her personal explorations. Being a Cooper meant maintaining a level of staunch repression in all things sexual and the unbiased internet was her outlet for all of her curiosities. She had been of age when she posted the first, feeling empowered by the feedback and pleased with the way they turned out. They were art more so than just risque photos of her in lingerie. Her face was never shown, an occasional lock of golden blonde hair  _ was  _ visible, but nothing else identifiable was ever in frame. 

 

She wore a black corset in the first one, juxtaposed to the white comforter she laid on as she took it. Nothing was visible, still firmly a PG-13 image but she felt sexy as she wriggled around on the comforter, adjusting herself to the perfect angle to show a shadow mirroring her figure, staining the comforter. It was almost poetic, she thought at the time. Her uncharacteristically dark attire covering the pure white comforter she had slept on since she truly was innocent. It was filtered, framed, and posted within minutes and remained on her page, still deep in the archives. Had he seen them? Had he liked them?

 

Betty shook her head again, the buzz nearly unnoticeable by that point and read back his deeply personal message. Her courage this time wouldn’t be attributed to alcohol, instead the power of relative anonymity spurned her on.

 

**CC:** I, too, am single. If that’s what you were asking.

     As far as my writing goes, honestly, I write when I feel like I need to.

     I haven’t needed to lately, even sans Prince Charming.

 

**RJ:** Good to know.

 

His reply was simple and it could have easily been attributed to her last statement, but Betty let herself believe it was directed at the first. His curiosity  _ was  _ rather obvious.

 

**CC:** I’m going to be in New York City this weekend. I know this sounds crazy and I probably shouldn’t even ask you and you can totally say no but do you maybe want to grab a coffee while I’m there?

 

As the minutes ticked by, Betty stared at her screen, no answering message to be found. Had she freaked him out? Maybe he wasn’t who he said he was. What if he was a teenager? Or older than he said? What if he was a 40 year old guy who still lived in his mother’s basement?

 

**CC:** We totally don’t have to. Just forget I ever suggested it.

 

**RJ:** No. I think that would be fun. Let’s do it.

 

**CC:** Really? Are you sure?

 

**RJ:** 100%. Coffee is something I will never say no to.

     Coffee and food.

     Coffee and food and free wifi.

 

**CC:** LOL.

     Well then we need to find a place that has all three.

 

**RJ:** Don’t worry tourist, I know of plenty ;)

 

**CC:** I am NOT a tourist. I’m a New York state native.

     I’m just from the northern tip of the state.

 

**RJ:** So what you’re saying is you’re from Canada?

 

**CC:** HAHA! Real funny.

 

**RJ:** I thought so

 

**CC:** lol. You’re too much.

 

**RJ:** Am I though?

 

**CC:** No. You’re not :)

 

**RJ:** Coffee it is then. 

      How will I recognize you?

 

**CC:** I’ll be the girl wearing a pink peony. Kinda poetic don’t you think?

 

**RJ:** More like cheesy, but sure. I’ll be wearing a gray hat. You’ll know it when you see it.

 

They worked out a time and place, teasing back and forth about the need for the space to be public. First he accused her of being a potential serial killer, then she teased him about his need for a place with a full menu that also sold superb coffee. Apparently Jughead was someone who could eat. It sounded as if he never stopped eating and for the second time that night she wondered what he looked like, if she was going to find him attractive. If he would like her. 

 

She sighed, closing her laptop screen after they said good night with the promise to meet. 

 

She’d know soon enough, one way or another. The idea frightened her a bit. She loved their newfound friendship and she caught herself thinking about how disappointed she would be if it came to an abrupt end after a particularly disastrous date.

 

But it wasn’t a date. 

 

It was coffee. And food. And free wifi.

 

So she would be fine. 

  
At least, she  _ hoped  _ she would be fine.

 

 

*

 


	4. our (little) secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks @peaceblessingspeyton (Peyton_0727) for providing an invaluable second set of eyes. <3
> 
> Note: I’ve been consistently switching Pov’s with each chapter but this one is going to be mixed and it’ll probably stay that way for the remainder of the chapters! I'm sure you'll figure out why as you read ;-)!
> 
> Hope you enjoy <3 - K

*

 

Betty was coming into town and Jughead was positively screwed. He knew he was screwed the second she sent that message. But it didn’t matter, he wanted to meet her. That had been why he ultimately agreed to it. He  _ really _ wanted to meet her. Knowing they were both single, around the same age, and lived close together and shared mutual interests was enough to make his head spin.

 

He had plenty of experience with girls, nursing a crush on a young blonde name Sabrina Spellman for years before realizing she was far from his type and a much better friend than potential lover. He had a few girlfriends in high school, never anything serious, and a few more in college. There was the occasional one night stand in his mid twenties and a few failed dates from apps that had matched him but Jughead was suddenly nervous for the impending coffee meeting that could arguably be called a date. 

 

They had flirted a little bit, if she knew his sardonic humor and teasing jabs were truly rooted in affection. The image of black lingerie covering milky skin sent shivers up his spine as he thought about the possibility that those pictures had actually been of her. There were only a few, speckled throughout her blog over the years, never anything too revealing and always tastefully framed, but just the thought made him far more excited than it should have.

 

They talked every day that week as Jughead counted down the hours until they met. Finally on Saturday it was nearly 11 o’clock and Jughead was rounding the corner, heading to their pre-arranged meeting place when he saw a flash of blonde hair duck inside the coffee shop. He picked up the pace and entered the building, looking for her sign, a peony pinned to her shirt. It didn’t take long to spot her, the blonde flash earlier belonging to the girl in question. She was breathtakingly beautiful in a classic way. Her hair was tied up in a tight ponytail, smoothed impossibly flat against her scalp, fully revealing her angelic face. Upon further inspection, as his eyes difted downward, he thought again that those pictures were probably of her. Even through the soft pastel sweater adorning her shoulders and the light blue button up sundress, he could see the same curves. He felt nervous, for the first time in longer than he could remember and had a small pep talk with himself before he ventured further into the coffee shop.  _ She’ll know one way or another. Now’s a good a time as any.  _ Hopefully she wouldn’t be mad at his deception. Hopefully it would be a pleasant surprise, but it was anyone’s guess at that point and he was too uncertain to truly lean one way or another on the issue.

 

She was staring down at her phone, engrossed in the bright screen as he walked closer. He was nearly at the table when she finally looked up, altered to his presence. His stormy blue eyes met her vibrant green ones and he saw them soften around the edges as a shy smile spread across her cheeks.

 

“Um…” she stammered. “Uh… can I help you?”

 

He wanted to laugh, to tell her she was waiting for him, that he was the reason for her presence to begin with. But he figured she already knew that. Her eyes flicked from his face to his head and he knew she saw the gray hat in question. As her hand came up to fiddle with the peony pinned to her sweater she dropped her head, a slight blush beginning to stain her cheeks.

 

“I’m Jughead. Or FP Jones. Take your pick, I go by both.” He knew it wasn’t smooth, or cool, or even anywhere in the realm of a practiced pick up line. It wasn’t even mildly flirty, but the way her green eyes danced across his features and the light pink hue hung on her cheeks made him lose all rational train of thought. She was even more beautiful in person, more beautiful than he could have ever imagined and it threw off his game. If he was being honest he wasn’t sure he had any to start with.

 

“You’re - you’re FP Jones? I mean you can’t be right? There’s no way,” Betty said in disbelief, her lip trapped between her teeth as she raised her eyes to meet his once more. “This has  _ got _ to be a joke. I mean you’re kidding right?”

 

“I kid you not. My real name isn’t Jughead but everyone calls me that so I publish under my surname.” He slid into the booth opposite her, looking at the way her hands shook just a little bit. She was trying to play it cool but her obvious nerves were endearing. “Let me start by saying this obviously needs to be our little secret.”

 

“Our little secret? I’d say it’s a big secret,” she giggled. “But if you recall, secrets are my specialty. F Jones, huh? I have to say, I never would have guessed.”

 

They talked for hours, three black coffees for him and two iced lattes later for her. At first she was nervous, knowing he was far more than he claimed to be online but their conversation was easy, even easier than it had been with an added layer of anonymity and Betty tried to think of him as ReubenJones, the man she had been talking to, not F Jones, the author of the series she had fangirled over for years through Tumblr. Sure, it was weird, but Betty’s life up to that point had been a series of events one might call happenstance and she thoroughly enjoyed his company. So she chose not to question it, to just go with it, and hope he enjoyed being around her as much as she enjoyed being around him

 

It was late afternoon when he suggested a walk around the city, their drinks had been drained but the conversation was far from over. She happily complied. By the time the sun had set, they had walked more than a few miles and she had no idea where they were. She took measured steps as they walked, hyper aware of her hands as they swung slightly, maintaining mere inches between her fingertips and his. 

 

The soft glow of the streetlamps accentuated his sharp features, a dim light illuminating the face she already knew before she even saw him that day. He was more handsome in person. More alluring than any picture could ever convey, even the staged ones on the covers of his books. Inky black locks stuck out from under his signature beanie. His eyes were a color she couldn’t quite pinpoint. Somewhere between a stormy blue and the brilliant hues of a glacier. They were lighter around the rims and darker near his pupils. The sight was entracing and she had to catch herself a few times, stop herself from staring into the depth of his eyes, the windows to his soul, the same ones that lit up when she laughed and traced over her features when she was deep in thought earlier at the coffee shop. Her stolen glances weren’t always unnoticed, occasionally he would look over at her as she studied his face. Each time she’d duck her head, hide her blush and try to regain her composure before looking at him again.

 

“What brought you to New York to begin with?” he asked, slowing their pace and tilting his head to look at her.

 

“I had a meeting with my publisher yesterday about my newest book.”

 

“Since I’ve seen your face now, and you’ve seen mine, I feel like it isn’t entirely untoward for me to ask you about your books.”

 

Betty smiled, he was right, she tended to keep a lot of her personal details off the site but they were clearly past the point of hiding behind the anonymity of their icons.

 

“I’m a children’s author. I also illustrate my books. It’s a hobby turned profession but it pays the bills and I love it. I started doing it for my niece and nephew when they were little and the rest is history. What about you? You’re the overnight success who published Sunnyside’s Secrets and practically became a recluse. Tell me more about it.”

 

“I was hardly an overnight success,” he said, a smug smirk tugging at his lips. “But if you must know, I started developing the series years ago as a bit of an…” he paused, kicking his feet lazily as he went and thinking about how much he was willing to divulge. “It was an escape.”

 

“Escape?”

 

“I didn’t have the greatest childhood. My mom left when I was a baby and my dad was the leader of a motorcycle gang. Needless to say it wasn’t the best environment for a toddler and he wound up in prison before I even entered school. I was a foster kid for a while before I wound up in a group home and stayed there until I turned 18. Writing helped me cope and the characters I created distracted me from real life.”

 

“I’m sorry, Jug,” she said softly.

 

“It’s fine. I’m over it. It was a long time ago anyway.”

 

“Still,” she began, turning to face him and placing a delicate hand on his arm. He stopped too, motioning over to a bench for them to sit before either of them spoke again. “No child deserves that and I’m sorry you had to go through it.”

 

“Don’t feel sorry for me, Betts,” he said with a tight smile. “I’m not some charity case and I don’t need sympathy.” 

 

“Oh, I’m - uh - I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was pitying you. Clearly you’ve moved past that and found your own version of happiness. Can I ask you how you wound up writing fanfiction? On Tumblr of all places?” she laughed. “It just doesn’t seem to fit this broody bad boy aesthetic you have going on and I’m curious.”

 

They were sitting mere inches apart, the air between them growing thick with something other than the summer humidity.

 

“The first thing I published on Tumblr was purely out of spite,” he laughed. “My publisher cut something I was attached to and I wasn’t quite ready to let go yet. So I tossed it up on my blog and everything went haywire from there.”

 

“I still can’t believe you’re actually F Jones. I mean it’s kind of crazy, you know that right?”

 

“We’re all a little crazy. The term is relative. But yes, I know what you mean. I was a bit out of sorts when I did it and the feedback was unheard of, so I just kept going.”

 

“Imagine what people would say if they knew.” Her tone was almost wistful, thinking of all the times she had seen people fawn over him and his stories on her dash, both published and virtual.

 

Jughead turned to her, a serious look settling on his features and she wondered if she had said something wrong, said something to upset him.

 

“I’m serious Betty, no one can know about this. I could get in a lot of trouble with my publisher. I have an exclusive deal and this is a breach of contract. You are literally the only person on the entire planet who knows about this.”

 

“Jug,” she said teasingly. “I wasn’t planning on plastering the news all over my dash. I was just going to add it into the dedication of my next book. I thought it might go something like, to F Jones or ReubenJones, thanks for the inspiration.” He glared at her and she couldn’t help but laugh. “Kidding. Obviously. I just think this is fun. It’s like our secret, albeit not a little one, but a fun one nonetheless.”

 

He stared at her for a minute, eyebrow quirked and expression unreadable before he shook his head and got up, extending an hand to assist her. She stood, their palms remaining flattened against each other’s as they resumed their lazy pace.

 

“Do you want to see something?” he suddenly asked after a few blocks of silence.

 

Betty tilted her head to look at him, a small smile teasing the corners of her lips before she trapped one between her teeth and nodded. “Sure.”

 

They walked a few more blocks before arriving at a nondescript building. It was apparently a residence, a large one at that, clearly expensive despite it’s minimalistic approach to exterior decoration.

 

“Where are we?” 

 

“Do you trust me?” he asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

 

“Should I?”

 

“You should. Let’s go.”

 

They reached the door and he pulled it open, the entire building apparently belonging to him as he punched his keycode into the smart lock and tugged her inside. The sight rendered her speechless, it was a beautiful three story townhome with an oversized chandelier in the entrance and a grand staircase just in front of her. The word ‘wow’ slipped from her lips as she stared on in awe, frozen to her spot in the entry and taking in the grandeur of his home. 

 

“It was decorated when I bought it. In case you were wondering. I’m more of a Ernest Hemingway type than Martha Stewart.”

 

“A bit full of ourselves aren’t we Jones,” she teased. “I always thought of you more as a Tolkien than a Hemingway, but I guess I could see that.”

 

“C'mere,” he whispered, tugging her along again by the hand that was still securely encased in his.

 

She followed him up the first flight of stairs and down a hallway to two wooden double doors. With a light push they opened, granting them entrance to his exquisite personal library. The walls were lined with shelves, stuffed full of countless volumes with colorful spines. ‘Wow’ slipped out again as she was struck with the sight. It was like a dream come true, looking at his extensive personal collection situated in the room. A large wooden desk sat in the middle of the room and she was his computer, imaging all of the nights they had talked on Tumblr as he sat at the exquisite piece.

 

Her hand fell from his as she wandered over to the shelves, running her fingertips along the assorted spines and pulling out a book occasionally, flipping it open and checking the edition. His collection was beyond impressive and she was in a near permanent state of awe by the time she made it to the desk. Chancing a glance over at him, she noticed he was still standing where she left him, smiling and looking directly at her.

 

“What?” she asked.

 

He didn’t answer for a long moment, slowly walking toward her as she leaned back against the desk, her hands braced on the top behind her as she waited anxiously for whatever he was going to say.

 

“What?” she asked again as the smile on his face beamed brighter and brighter with each step.

 

He stopped directly in front of her, closer than they had ever been and just stared at her. It could have been a minute or an hour, she didn’t know, the notion of time was a foreign concept as she studied the fascinating shade of his eyes, they seemed just a bit darker than before but maybe it was just from the dimly lit room. It felt as if her skin was on fire, alight with heat under his gaze as his eyes flicked over the features of her face.

 

“Say something,” she whispered, afraid if her voice was any louder the palpable tension in the room may reach a breaking point.

 

“You’re an enigma Cooper,” he said softly. He reached up to tug off his beanie, raking his long, dexterous fingers through the inky black locks before replacing it again.

 

“Why do you say that?” Her voice was breathy as she spoke.

 

“You’re just not what I expected. At all.”

 

“Neither are you,” she said, worrying her lip between her teeth as she held his gaze.

 

“Based on your profile I expected some black combat boots and thick eyeliner. Maybe an old band T-shirt with some vintage jeans. I certainly didn’t expect you,” he finished quietly.

 

“I didn’t realize CardiganCutie meant Hot Topic employee.”

 

“It was your depth of your musings, not your handle.” 

 

“Oh,” slipped from her lips as she realized what he meant. 

 

They were so close that she could see the bags under his eyes, the soft skin tinged blue and purple from his apparent lack of sleep. She could also see the sweep of his nose, the sharp cut of his jaw and the way his chest rose and fall with his shallow breaths. It was intoxicating, standing so close, surrounded by his library and breathing in his scent. He smelled like sandalwood and spice and she was a bit lightheaded from the heady mixture. 

 

“Your poetry was,” he said quietly, searching for the words.

 

“Stupid? Immature?” she laughed, feeling suddenly self conscious discussing the part of her soul no one in her real life had seen.

 

“Transcendent,” he finished.

 

Betty couldn’t help but laugh as she leaned up to grip his surprisingly muscular arm and squeeze lightly.

 

“You’re too kind.”

 

They were even closer now, her hand still resting on his bicep as he brought his other hand around to rest on her hip. It was electric, feeling his fingertips press into the centimeter of skin that was exposed when he reached forward. It felt as if her skin was on fire under his touch and her eyes were still locked on his when he spoke again.

 

“Also -” he visibly gulped, his adam’s apple bobbing up and then down as the seconds crawled by.

 

“What?” she asked again even quieter than before.

 

He leaned forward, closing the space between them in slow motion as his lips inched closer to hers. She watched his eyes flicker down to her lips for a brief second before she leaned forward the last few centimeters and kissed him. It was surreal how natural it felt, as if their mouths were made to meld together in the wood lined room in that exact moment. She pressed further, not knowing where her own lips ended and his began as the pressure increased. One of his hands was still firmly planted on her hip, the tips of his fingers digging into her thinly covered bone in a way that made her body temperature rise. His other hand came up to cup her jaw as his fingertips wrapped around the back of her neck, pulling her in, pulling her deeper as she tilted her head. With a quick swipe of his tongue across her bottom lip she opened, willingly, granting him access to the caverns of her mouth that hadn’t been explored in ages.

 

It was hot and heavy within minutes and as she pulled back, trying to catch her breath, he leaned his forehead down to rest on hers, a smile brimming on his cheeks.

 

“That was,” he said, taking a deep breath.

 

“Unexpected?” she whispered, looking up at him with a grin wide enough to rival his own.

 

“Incredible is what I was going to say. But yes, unexpected too.”

 

“It was,” she muttered, her eyes still fixated on his lips, slightly plumper now with a reddish glow. She leaned back against the desk again, gripping his collar to bring him with her. The hand on her hip hadn’t moved an inch and as his tongue swiped across his bottom lip in an apparently unconscious gesture, she pulled his mouth back to hers, letting herself sink into the feeling, grounded only by the desk and his hands and his impossibly soft lips. Her fingers slid around his neck, sinking into his hair and dislodging the woolen beanie. It fell to the ground without a sound as their drugging kisses heated up once more.

 

They separated again, a blush rising to her cheeks as she took in the impossibly crazy scenario she found herself in. Someone she met on Tumblr, an author she had looked up to for a long time, just so happened to be the actual author of her favorite series. Not only was he talented, but he was also devastatingly handsome, and somehow full of a boyish charm that warranted the use of the word adorable. 

 

_ He _ was the enigma, she thought. His dark leather jacket and ever present scowl screamed anything but soft novelist who could kiss like his life depended on it. Having already read his stories more times than she could count, even the ones on the internet, she knew he had substantial experience. The way he kissed her a few moments before solidified the notion and she clenched her thighs together at the mental images she conjured up while reading his sensual words earlier that week.

 

“I have to go,” she said after a long pause, knowing that was the right thing to do, the proper thing, regardless of her body telling her otherwise. 

 

He wrapped both arms around her waist and pulled her body flush against his, her head pressed against his chest. “Where are you staying tonight?” he breathed into her hair, placing a soft kiss on the crown of head.

 

“At the Five Seasons. I haven’t booked the room yet but my publisher said they would take care of it so it’s ready whenever I am.”

 

“And are you?” he asked, tightening his arms around her tiny frame.

 

“No.” As she uttered the singular syllable, she nuzzled into his chest, breathing in the scent that she now knew to be so uniquely his.

 

“Stay.”

 

Betty felt herself stiffen in his arms, pulling back slightly to look at him with a curious expression. “What kind of girl do you think I am Jughead Jones?” she teased, relieved to find a smile on his face as she watched him. “Just because you’re famous and you know I might be a bit of a literature groupie for your stories, that doesn’t mean I’m going to sleep with you the first day we meet.”

 

“Who said anything about sleeping together, Betts?” he jested, winking at her as she realized it must have been her own internal monologue that filled in the gaps. “I have a few spare bedrooms. Make yourself at home. There’s extra clothes in the dresser for guests, sorry they’re just sleep pants and t-shirts, all men’s too so I hope that’s okay.”

 

“Who said I was staying, Jug?” she narrowed her eyes as she looked at him, trapping her bottom lip between her teeth to keep her from saying how badly she wanted to.

 

“Stay,” he said again with a serious tone.

 

She leaned up to press her lips to his again, this time soft and simple. A delicate kiss to cap off the night. The Five Seasons wasn’t where she wanted to be. Leaving felt nearly impossible after being so close to him for so long that day. After their weeks of online banter, she felt more comfortable around him than she probably should have. Especially after discovering the monumental secret he had been hiding. But it would be a lie to say she was even the least bit mad about the development. She had been lying by omission too, so harboring ill feelings about it wasn’t fair to him. On the contrary, she was still in disbelief, choosing to stay with him while still considering she could wake up in the morning and this would all have been some kind of dream. 

 

“Okay,” she conceded quietly, connecting their lips again and immersing herself in the dreamlike state she had been floating in for hours. If it was all just a dream, she might as well take advantage. An impossible scenario that only happened once in a lifetime if at all, at least that’s what she told herself over and over again as she slipped into his clothes. A baggy pair of plaid pants and a simple white tank top. She said it again as she sought him out before she went to the guest room, locating him in his own room. 

 

And she said it once more as she found herself wrapped up in his arms, laughing well into the night, trading stories and sharing secrets, still fully clothed. Their words never did run short, but the palpable tension could only be denied for so long and once he flipped the switch, sucking the light from the room before crawling under the sheets and wrapping her in his arms, she found herself languidly exploring every inch of his mouth. She didn’t know when it happened, but they both fell into a deep sleep, limbs entangled and breaths mingling in the thick air that hung between them and the sheets.

 

*


	5. i hope you dream (of me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, to my wonderful beta for this @peaceblessingspeyton / @peyton_0727.
> 
> This chapter didn't go as planned in my loose outline, but i hope you like it anyway. lol
> 
> (please also note the rating change. it is now M)

Early morning rays shot tendrils of sunlight through his barely opened curtains, painting lines across the pillow as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Jughead stretched, a groan escaping his lips as his muscles flexed from the first movement of the day. He sat up a little, blinking a few times to adjust to the light and looked around, searching for the soft form of Betty. 

 

He thought back to the unexpected turn of events the day before. He had been nervous, probably more so than he should have been, to reveal his identity. But Betty took it in stride, even when she was trying to hide the way her hands shook the tiniest bit, he knew she was dying to ask him questions. She did, finally, and the conversation flowed from there. 

 

Often times, when he met fans, they were too awestruck or obsessive to interact. Betty was a bit of both, but not too much of either. He felt normal, as if he wasn’t the writer of the fandom that brought them together, as if his secret identity was truly no big deal to her. It felt almost normal. Just a man, and a woman, getting coffee in the Big Apple, an online friendship that transcended the confines of a site.

 

He had been hesitant, worried that it wouldn’t be as easy to talk to her face to face as it was through a faceless screen. When typing out a message, Jughead could write and erase and reword things before they were sent. In person, the dynamic was clearly lacking the option to edit what he thought. That hadn’t been a problem though, as it was actually easier to talk to her face to face than it was online. He could read her cues, the way she ducked her head, the way she nibbled on her bottom lip, especially the way her cheeks would coat themselves in the softest tinge of pink. He was gone for her the second he laid eyes on her. Really, he had been gone for her before that, enraptured with her mind and the slices of genius he had seen had him jonesing for more.

 

When they left the coffee shop, he wasn’t ready to part ways, inviting her for a walk and then back to his apartment. He knew how it looked, a first ‘date’ of sorts ending at his place, but that wasn’t his intention. Not at first, at least. When he stared at her in the library, entranced with the way her eyes danced over the spines, the way her fingertips drifted along the volumes, he was glued to his place, taking in every detail and cataloging it for future reference. It hadn’t even been a thought, to consider he might not see her again. Their connection was undeniable and when she was leaning against his desk, he just couldn’t help himself. Jughead wasn’t an overly forward guy, he wasn’t even typically flirty, but something about the bright ray of sunshine that was Betty Cooper seemed to soften him a bit. They had been flirty online, he knew she read his passages, he saw her photos, there was an unspoken tension that broke wide open when their lips crashed together in that drugging kiss.

 

Betty wound up wearing an old pair of his flannel pajama pants and one of his many ‘S’ t-shirts. She had looked so cute, wandering out of his bathroom, her frame swallowed by the oversized articles of clothing. It was almost magnetic, the way she gravitated toward him as soon as their eyes locked. He slid an arm around her waist and playfully tugged her down as she giggled and buried her face in his neck. They had fallen asleep the night before, wrapped up in each other’s arms, lips connected, clothes still firmly in place. 

 

But in the warm glow of the morning sun, she was nowhere to be found. The opposite side of the bed was cold, sheets still wrinkled from her body but no heat lingered. It didn’t appear that she was in the bathroom either. He wandered down the hall, following his nose as a heavenly scent wafted through the air, alerting him to her location. As he rounded the corner he paused, caught up in the sight of her in his clothes, hair tied up in a messy bun and the faint shadow of a mark adorning her neck from where his lips had been the night before.. 

 

Turning around, Betty flashed him a bright smile before returning to her current task of cleaning up the kitchen. There was a whole spread on the counter and Jughead’s mouth watered at the sight. Eggs, bacon, waffles, pancakes, toast, and fruit. A breakfast fit for a king. 

 

“Good morning,” she said in a sing song voice, far too chipper for such an early hour.

 

“Morning,” he yawned, walking the few steps between them and settling his hands on her shoulders, massaging lightly as she scrubbed the dishes. He wanted to have some fun, so he leaned down, his breath fanning across the shell of her ear and whispered, “I thought you said you weren’t going to sleep with me last night.”

 

The pan she was scrubbing dropped into the sink with a loud clank and she hastily shut the water off and dried her hands before turning around. There was that stain, painting the apples of her cheeks a deep pink as she looked at him defiantly.

 

“We did NOT sleep together.” Despite her protest, she slid her hands up over his shoulders as his wrapped around her waist, tugging her closer until their bodies were flush against each other’s.

 

“If I recall correctly, CardiganCutie,” she rolled her eyes at the use of her handle before he continued, “we did, in fact, sleep together.”

 

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

 

“Semantics,” he jested, leaning down to press a kiss against her lips. It was supposed to be short, just a quick peck because he simply couldn’t help himself. But it wasn’t, the heat gathered as their lips pushed and pulled, his tongue dipping in and out of her mouth as his feet carried them to the counter, shuffling between hers in a desperate dance search for a surface. It was only one step, but she groaned slightly as her back made contact with the counter, his hands cupping her face, angling her jaw to taste every inch. Her body bowed backward as he pressed himself into her, and she hooked a foot behind his calf. Without a second thought, his hands dropped, gripping her thighs and lifting her onto the counter. He felt her knees press into his hips as her feet hooked around his back. 

 

She was too far onto the counter, his urgency to feel her undeniable, so he gripped her hips, sinking his fingertips into her soft flesh just inside her waistband and pulled her forward, all the way to the edge of the counter, aligning their centers. She moaned softly into his mouth and he lost it, bringing his hands back up and pulling his shirt off of her frame as he went. Her hands were threaded through his tousled locks, nails scratching the scalp as she directed his mouth back to hers. He couldn’t help the way his body was responding, grinding his arousal into her, his length nearly throbbing from her heat. They were separated by thin material and her clear response was seeping through his pants. 

 

When they finally broke, gasping for air as their hips were sinfully synchronized, he trailed sloppy kisses down the column of her neck. He could see the smooth expanse of skin covered only by a flimsy pink bra that looked to be more for show than actual support and his mind flashed to the images she had shared years before. 

 

She was panting heavily when he reached her collarbone, leaving a trail of spotted skin already beginning to bruise in his wake. His tounge laved at the indention, his teeth nipping the bone as he descended again. The way she pulled his hair, directing his mouth, was driving him insane with need and his hands gripped her hips as he nipped at the visible bud beneath the thin material. Her back arched forward and his fingertips pressed further into her hips, dragging her against him as she leaned back on the counter, resting on her palms.

 

“More,” she moaned and he obeyed without a thought, slipping his knuckles into her waistband and dragging them down a few inches. 

 

He looked up, connecting their gaze before leaning forward again, his teeth clenching the bra as his fingers found purchase beneath the flimy white cotton that was now completely drenched.

 

It was nearly too much all at once. His fingers brushing over her dripping center, his teeth nibbling the flesh of her breast, his gaze penetrating every rational thought and in that instant, she was overwhelmed as a wave of relief rushed through her embarrassingly fast. His eyes only darkened, slipping a single finger between her folds as he drug his mouth back to hers, sealing them together with an intoxicating kiss. 

 

Her hands shot up, sinking deep into his tresses again, trying to ground herself to  _ something _ , anything, before she simply floated away, drifting on nothing more than the high she had yet to come down from. 

 

She wasn’t even sure how it happened, but with a few curls of his fingers and lashes of his tongue against hers, she came undone once more, a deep moan seeping from her chest as a second orgasm ripped straight through her entire body. Her hair was standing on end, her toes curled painfully, and her chest heaved harder than it ever had as he brought her down. 

 

Their kisses slowed as one of his hands found purchase on her jaw, cupping it and holding it there as his tongue dipped in and out of her mouth in a slow and sensual fashion. 

 

She pulled back for a second, whispering against his lips, “let me-”

 

But he shushed her, shaking his head as he pressed their lips together before pulling back again. “Next time.”

 

The promise of another day, another night, another time, wrapped in his sheets and arms, their legs tangled, bodies pressed intimately together made her head spin and she grinned at the promise before kissing him again. 

 

She was too high on her own endorphins, enraptured by the motions of his mouth to even care about her current state of undress. It was about the most un-Betty Cooper like thing she could have probably done, meet a man in New York she had connected with online and let him play with her until she fell apart on his counter - twice. But really, the entire scenario might as well have been a dream. 

 

When she woke up that morning, it had all still felt surreal. His sheets were expensive, not by look, but by touch, surely some fabric that cost more than her entire bed set and his home was, too, clearly more expensive than she could ever dream of. She awoke to the sound of his soft snores caressing her ears and his warm hands splayed across her skin. 

 

It was a feeling she had never experienced, greeting the day as if she was still in her wildest dreams. She took a moment to study the features of his face, tempted to trace the sharp line of his jaw before deciding she wanted him to rest as long as his body would allow. The copious amount of coffee he drank the day before and the addiction he willingly owned up to made sense with the dark circles under his eyes. It looked as if he hadn’t slept properly in months, maybe even years, and as she watched the rhythmic motion of his chest rising and falling in time with the sound of his snores, she knew she could never wake him. 

 

The events from the night before played through her mind as she fiddled around in his kitchen, making the breakfast that now sat cold, untouched on the counter. But she wasn’t the slightest bit mad as she bit her lip and looked up through her lashes to meet his eyes. 

 

“I have to go home today,” she said softly, hopping off the counter and pulling the pants back up before searching for his shirt.

 

He picked it up and handed it to her. “When will I see you again?”

 

She tugged it over her head and let it hang on her thin frame as she wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled his body flush against hers, pressing her cheek to his chest. 

 

“Soon,” she promised, knowing soon was probably not soon enough.

 

“How soon?” 

 

She thought she heard a fleck of desperation in his voice, maybe even longing, and she tried her hardest to quell her brimming hope. “Soon,” she repeated, tightening her arms around his waist as his wrapped around her shoulders. 

 

He dropped a light kiss to the top of her head as ‘okay’ slipped from his lips. 

 

-

 

Later that night, with her laptop open and her daily goal met, she opened up a new document, mulling over the thoughts in her head and relishing in the new memories they had made. He bid her good night only moments before, a message through text that simply said ‘I hope you dream’, the words ‘of me’ entirely unnecessary. She knew he’d fill her sleepy thoughts for years to come.

 

He was unlike anyone she had ever met before and she was still in a near constant state of disbelief that someone like  _ him _ really wanted someone like  _ her. _ Although she’d never tell him that. She already knew his protests would come swift and his praise would be unfiltered. But to herself, sitting in her room, as a new poem spilled from her fingertips, painting the page with the simple words, she couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest girl in the entire world. 

 

_ Let me skim your pages,  _

_ Marking my favorite spots, _

_ Making you mine, _

_ As I am now yours. _

  
  


_ tbc _

_ * _


	6. are you? (mine now?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you, as always, to @peaceblessingspeyton (peyton_0727) for giving this a look over for me. 
> 
> Sorry for the ridiculous wait but most of the next chapter is done and the next update shouldn't take nearly as long!

*

 

 

**RJ:** Are you?

      Mine now?

 

The messages were staring at her early the next morning as a notification on Tumblr, timestamped for nearly four in the morning. She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face as she unlocked her phone and sent off a good morning text, choosing to purposefully avoid opening that can of worms mere hours after his notification. 

 

She had a new deadline to meet, thanks to her meeting at the publisher’s office early Saturday morning. The next book in the series was going to deal with a new character who had a learning disability. It was a topic Betty took to heart, wanting to properly convey the complexity of a character in a way a child could easily digest. When she was in school, she had tutored many students with learning disabilities and it had been incredibly rewarding. She wanted to create something that did the topic justice while still remaining true to her brand - fun, lighthearted children's books that delivered pivotal messages to a younger generation while staying under 30 fully illustrated pages. It was a tall order, but Betty had always enjoyed a challenge.

 

Her entire day was spent in front of the computer screen, mapping out an outline and laying out the order of events she would then start to fill in over the next few weeks. She even picked up her sketchbook and did a rough drawing of the character she wanted to introduce.

 

By the time the sun had set, Betty felt a sense of accomplishment as she poured herself a glass of wine and grabbed her phone. It was becoming a bit of a habit, keeping herself focused by physically removing any distractions available when she had a deadline to meet. When she finally looked at the notifications, she smiled again, both texts and Tumblr messages from none other than Jughead himself were waiting on her screen.

 

Only two of them had been on Tumblr, both posts he forwarded her that he thought she might enjoy. One was about the dying art of print media and the implications it would have on the next generation, the other made her stop in her tracks. It was a post from her fandom account, one from her queue that had finally dumped. She had paired song lyrics with scenes from Sunnyside’s Secrets and used her signature font for the words. He didn’t realize he had sent her a post she made herself. She found herself wondering where her online fangirl ended and the real woman he was texting began. Were they even the same person? Logically she knew that yes, all her profiles were parts of who she was, but who did she want to be to him? That was the real question. The lies felt heavier as she looked through his text messages. On her phone there were a few asking about her day, telling her he was thinking of her and hoping to see her again soon. The final one, sent a few hours before, said he’d be writing that night and she could message him back on Tumblr to talk.

 

Guilt wasn’t a foreign feeling for Betty. She had felt guilty taking the extra cookie when splitting an odd number between two people as a child, guiltier still when she looked at a text and didn’t respond right away as an adult, and now guiltier than ever as her own lies ran through her mind. Lying by omission was still a lie in her book, and there had been nothing but raw honestly between them as she laid in his bed, talking well into the night only a few days before. So the lies now, simmering under the surface, unbeknownst to him, someone she truly didn’t want to lie to, caused her head to spin. 

 

Turning off her phone again and resuming her position at her laptop, she opened up Tumblr and looked through his messages on the desktop. 

 

She decided to start a whole new conversation, intentionally avoiding any mention of his prying questions that she really  _ wanted  _ to answer, but didn’t know how to. Was she his? Did she want to be? Did she deserve to be? Yes. Yes. And No. Those were the answers. Whether she deserved him or not. 

 

**CC:** Hey there

 

She didn’t expect his immediate response, the guilt weighing heavier as she thought about him sitting on the other side of a screen waiting for her reply.

 

**RJ:** You have returned to the land of the living!

      Busy day?

 

**CC:** You could say that.

      The meeting with my publisher was to decide on the next installment of the book series so I was working on the newest title today. How was your day?

 

**RJ:** Lonely.

 

She took a deep breath, hoping he’d send a follow up, something she could reply to without feeling like a total fraud.

 

**RJ:** I miss you

 

That certainly wasn’t it. But she couldn’t lie and say she hadn’t missed him, too. So she didn’t.

 

**CC:** I miss you, too.

 

**RJ:** Do you miss me or my bed more?

 

She laughed, thinking back to their cuddling under the sheets, her teasing jabs about the cost of the mattress.  _ I bet this thing costs more than my entire bedroom. _ He didn’t lie, it had.

 

**CC:** What if I said both?

 

**RJ:** You have to choose.

 

**CC:** Fine. But remember you asked for it.

 

She waited for dramatic effect before sending her next message.

 

**CC:** The bed. Definitely.

 

**RJ:** I’m wounded. I shall never recover.

 

She laughed again, a ding coming from her computer signaling a message on her CrownJules account. When she flipped over and read it, it was an ask, requesting a specific scene to be giffed. It seemed like a good idea but she was certainly not in the headspace to do it currently so she flipped back over to their conversation and silenced the CrownJules blog altogether, making a snap decision to leave it silent until manually turned back on. 

 

**RJ:** What if I said the bed misses you, too?

 

**CC:** I’d be hard pressed to believe you. To my knowledge it didn’t speak.

 

**RJ:** Okay, you got me. Maybe it’s just me.

 

**CC:** Not just you. Me, too. 

 

**RJ:** You’ve been avoiding my earlier question.

 

Staring at the screen for a few long moments, she formulated her response.  _ Am I his? Is he mine? Does he want to be? Do I want him to?  _ The questions swirled as she typed and retyped her response. 

 

**CC:** I know. And I don’t know what to say, Jug. Am I? Are you?

 

Before she allowed herself to overthink it any further, she hit send and held her breath for a response. It didn’t come after a long minute, then two, and just as she was about to type some follow up, something to ease the metaphorical burden that statement had laid on him, he sent a message.

 

**RJ:** I don’t know? Does that count? I know I like you. I know I enjoy your company and I know I want to see you again. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. Your poem is burned into my memory right now and honestly…. Yes? If that’s okay? I think I’m already yours… and as far as if you are mine well… that’s up to you Juliet. <3

 

The grin that broke across her face would have looked stupid to anyone who could see her, but luckily her screen didn’t judge and his words eased her earlier anxiety. The rest of their conversation wasn’t nearly as heavy but equally as sweet. Smitten didn’t quite cover it. She was head over heels, falling for the guy she felt she knew better than possible after such a short time, but the liberating feeling of meeting someone without the pretenses that came with typical ‘online matchmaking’ services, had its clear advantages. Number one being she now had a man in her life that she never could have guessed. A man who wanted her to be his, and who wanted to be hers, a man she could easily see herself falling deeper for as the days went on. And for the first time in her life, it wasn’t nearly as scary as she thought it could have been. 

 

Before they signed off for the night he sent her a kissy face, and all she could think about was his lips on hers, the way they moved, the way they nipped, the soft pressure that worked like a match, igniting every inch of her body with a need she had never felt before. 

 

Later that night, as the dim street lights cast wayward shadows through her sheer curtains and across the expanse of her room, his lips were on her mind again. But this time it wasn’t just his lips, it was his hands, his hips, the rough texture of his palm gliding over her silken thighs. As her hand snaked beneath the waistband of her panties, the images that flitted behind her eyelids egged on the soft pump of her fingers. The last word she spoke for the night was his name, two syllables spilling from her lips as she worked herself through the tantalizing orgasm brought on by his memory alone.

 

She needed to see him again. And soon. 

 

*

 

The following morning she woke to a text on her phone time stamped for nearly four in the morning again. He certainly kept odd hours but she wasn’t one to complain when she opened up the message. It was a selfie, the first of its kind to be sent to her and she immediately saved it before pulling it back up again. He was laying in bed, his arm propped behind his head and the top of his bare chest captured by the lens. His eyes were trained on the camera and the faintest hint of a smile was ghosting the edges of his lips and she felt herself smile at the message that accompanied it.  _ Can’t stop thinking of you, baby. Please come back soon. _

 

Without hesitation she typed out a message saying good morning and added ‘handsome’ just for good measure.  _ Devastatingly attractive  _ was probably more like it but handsome would have to do. 

 

Looking back at his picture again and his short but sweet sentiment, the word ‘baby’ made her heart stutter. She had never been one for pet names, but even through the black and white lettering on her message history, him calling her baby was more alluring than she ever thought possible. 

 

*

 

A few days passed, days filled with work while the sun was up and messaging with Jughead every time it dipped below the skyline. Each time she hopped online to speak to him it was invigorating. The messages weren’t filled with dirty talk or declarations of affection, instead they discussed their likes, their dislikes, their hobbies and their families. She found it so easy to open up to him that it almost felt like a fantasy. If the bruises he had left from the trail of his teeth weren’t still barely visible, and her phone didn’t ding every morning with the reminder, she might honestly think it was all in her head.

 

But it  _ had  _ been progressing. After his first selfie, she decided to play back. Each night, before bed, with her face scrubbed and her hair tousled, she’d lay down in bed, tug the covers up just high enough on her chest to cover the parts she figured would be embarrassing if they were ever made public, and snapped a shot to send to him. Each and every time he’d immediately respond. Sometimes it was groan, sometimes a wink, and the night before it had been a phone call.

 

She thought back to the deep timbre of his voice, the way it felt to inch her hand down as he cooed in her ear about how beautiful she was. Betty had never been one to indulge in such things, but he was awakening something within her, even from a hundred miles away, that she couldn’t stuff back down if she tried. 

 

When she moaned his name into the phone and he echoed with hers, their panting was synchronized and she rued the distance between their bodies. She wanted nothing more than to feel herself there with him, the connection was intense. That much was obvious, but no matter how much they talked or typed or texted pictures, it didn’t make her feel any better when she woke to an empty bed the next morning.

 

A few more weeks passed. Weeks filled with muted notifications from CrownJules and complete inactivity on that blog. The guilt was too much. She couldn’t lie to him anymore and though the damage was already done, she refused to let it go any further. After the first night on the phone, each day was met with a call instead of a text. She hadn’t opened Tumblr for a few weeks and had been avoiding what used to be her release, exploring the connection with him rather than seeking it through the faceless masses of her followers. 

 

One night, a little over a month after their very first meeting, he surprised her.

 

“My publisher has an event they’re making me attend and my agent insisted I bring a date.”

 

“Oh.” She didn’t know what else to say, images of women his agent surely had lined up were running through her mind and making her anxious until he spoke again.

 

“Please come with me. It’s this Saturday. You can come-”

 

“Yes,” she breathed, feeling relief wash over her at his words and cutting him off.

 

He laughed lightly. “You didn't let me finish. Come down Friday, spend the day with me and I’ll have my agent pick you up a dress for the event the next night. Maybe, if you want, you can even stay the rest of the weekend?”

 

The hopeful lilt to his voice made her heart melt. Of course she would say yes. There was nothing she wanted more at that very second than to see him again, to feel him again, to lay with him in his bed and cross that line they hadn’t been able to yet. Last time it was new, but this time, this time it would happen. She would make sure of it.

 

As she packed her bag that Thursday night, she tossed in her sexiest set of lingerie and a few condoms for good measure. That night, they talked until she fell asleep with the warm phone pressed against her cheek. They hadn’t had their usual nightly ritual, but with the promise of his presence the following day, Betty dreamed of his hands again, this time accompanied by his sharp tongue and skilled lips.

 

*

 

Before she finally left, she opened up Tumblr and left a message for him to find on her main page while she traveled. It was another poem, but he would know it was for him, even if the faceless masses didn’t, and that was enough for her.

 

_ Is this how it happens? _

_ Slowly at first  _

_ And then all at once _

_ I’m immersed in your memory _

_ Floating in your promises _

_ Lost to you _

_ No longer my own _

 

 

*  
 _tbc_

*


	7. slowly at first (and then all at once)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you, as always, to @peaceblessingspeyton for lending me her eyes!
> 
> Also major warning here - this chapter is almost entirely smut. I would apologize but I'm not all that sorry.
> 
> If it's not your thing, please feel free to skip this chapter but if it is, I hope this makes up for all the waiting they've been doing!

*

 

 

He had rearranged the throw pillows on his couch seven times already, but as he fiddled with them once more, he felt a tad calmer. He just wanted everything to be perfect. It had been over a month since he had seen her, over a month since he had touched her, had felt the warm sensation of her beneath his fingertips, and he was going absolutely insane. That was the only reason he could come up with for his sudden, obsessive need to rearrange fucking throw pillows until she arrived.

 

Thankfully she did arrive just a few moments later. And as he swung the door open, the smile that spread between his cheeks was nearly painful. “Hey there, Juliet.”

 

“Why hello, Romeo,” she said softly, wheeling her suitcase in just far enough for the door to close before wrapping her arms around his shoulders and crushing their lips together.

  
It felt like everything, all at once, and he was helpless to stop the moan that erupted from his throat at their tongues tangled and their hands grasped every inch they could find.

 

He couldn’t help himself, that was surely the only reason he gripped her thighs and lifted her as her legs wrapped around his hips. The bedroom was too far so he walked the few steps to the couch and gently settled her body against the cushions. It was as though he was pure fuel, waiting for the her match to light him on fire and with each touch she did, each caress and grip of her fingertips digging into his skin ignited the need that had been growing within him for weeks.

  
Their phone calls had staved it slightly over the course of the weeks, but it was nothing like having her there with him. Her hands, her mouth, her body could do things to him that his own never could. As she gripped the hem of his shirt, he stripped it off with ease and quickly shed hers as well. When their mouths met again it was with a hunger like never before. Gone was the gentle pressure of timidity, gone was the hesitation; it was replaced with pure, unhindered lust that had been bubbling beneath the surface since the last time he had seen her.

 

When her hips rocked against his and he pressed her farther into the couch, he just about lost his mind, gasping into her mouth as she stole his breath.

 

“Wait, wait, wait-” He heard himself speaking the words, but the ache in his groin protested the thought. Pulling back a few inches to clear his head, he finally spoke again as she found her shirt and tossed it on. “I wanted to take you on a date.”

 

The apprehension he had seen just moments before as he stalled their progress melted into a soft smile as she leaned forward and brushed her lips against his.

 

“Stop that,” he breathed against her mouth, their lips hoving millimeters apart. “If you do that again, we’ll never make it out of here.”

 

“Is that a bad thing?” Her voice was laced with innocence but her lips were positively sinful as they captured his again in a searing kiss.

 

He nearly tripped trying to get up from the couch. “Baby,” he panted from a few feet away, “we have to stop. I’m serious. I have something planned.”

 

Her eyebrows rose as she looked at him. “Really, Juggie? You planned a date for us?”

 

When she got up from the couch and attempted to walk the few steps towards him, he backed up again. “I’m serious, Betty. If you touch me again, I’m a goner. Please just humor me.”

 

-

 

He wanted to take her to a place he hadn’t shown anyone in the city. An old black and white movie theater was only a few blocks away and he had found himself huddled in the back watching double features on quite a few occasions. But this time it was different, this time it was better. With her tucked under his arm, whispering commentary as _Rebel Without a Cause_ played on the screen before them, he hadn’t been able to concentrate. He had seen it a hundred times before so he wasn’t even the slightest bit mad. Especially not when she’d likened him to James Dean and he’d kissed her in response. Their lips hadn’t separated until the credits rolled and they had stayed in the theater as everyone else wandered out, evening out their breaths and smoothing down their clothes.

 

Later that evening, when their feet were sore from sightseeing and their fingers were intertwined, they finally arrived back at his place. He had taken her to his favorite bakery and picked up a cheesecake to go while they sipped on their coffees. Hers was topped with a frothy mixture in the shape of a heart and his was black ‘just like his soul’, he had joked as she shook her head and giggled.

 

As soon as the door shut behind them the air grew thick with expectation. Just hours earlier, in the same room they had nearly crossed the line that he had only been dreaming about up until that point. While he was glad it hadn’t happened like that their first time, his body still thrummed from her touch. Each time she had reached for his hand or leaned over during the movie, he couldn’t help the way his body involuntarily reacted. The images from her profile coupled with her alluring words from earlier that day and the pictures she had been sending regularly created a need in him unmatched by anything ever before.

 

_Is this how it happens?_

_Slowly at first_

_And then all at once_

_I’m immersed in your memory_

_Floating in your promises_

_Lost to you_

_No longer my own_

 

Is this how it happens? It had never happened this way for him before. He had never wanted anyone the way he wanted Betty. She was an enigma that he was dying to unravel. From looks alone she was deadly, pastel sweaters, perfect ponytails, plump pink lips. But underneath it all, underneath the facade of the girl next door, the innocent girl who wooed anyone with the bat of her lashes, underneath that image she exuded with ease, that’s where he found himself falling, that’s what had him coming back for more. Because underneath the look of a naive princess, she was pure fire, hotter than he could handle and burning to the touch.

 

Every time they touched he felt the pulse in his veins run rampant, the slightest brush of her fingers could send him into a tailspin. He was hyper aware of every inch of his body when it hovered near hers and they had been doing this dance all night. She’d look at him with mischief dancing in her eyes, brush up against him when the crowds got thick. It was obvious she was playing this game, getting close and then drifting a little bit farther, testing his limits, testing his patience and testing their resolve as she teased him public. She knew what she was doing. So as soon as the door shut, and he took a singular breath, he simply couldn’t help what happened next.

 

Her back was pushed against the door in seconds as his hands found purchase on her hips, gripping the soft skin with enough pressure to bruise as he pressed his body flush against hers. With his tongue laving at her neck and her hands buried deep in his hair, tugging on the locks as soft moans dripped from her lips, he once again gripped the backs of her thighs and he lifted her with ease. Just like a practiced motion, her legs wrapped around his hips, and with her pulse beating against his lips, he carried her to his room.

 

The couch simply wouldn’t do this time.

 

Not after her words, not after her hands, not after he had felt the way she went limp under his direction earlier. No. He was going to take his time, he’d take all night if need be, all weekend, all month, all damn year if necessary. She was going to fall apart under his touch. He wanted her shattered, broken into millions of pieces strewn across his bed by the time he was done with her.

 

He had never waited so long to be with a woman. Each time they’d made it through his door, the night ended in his sheets; but none had ever stayed, not for the night, not for the weekend, not for a month camped out in his mind. Betty was more than he could have ever expected. The way her body responded to his was with an natural ease that only came from pure chemistry. There was no other explanation. With each moan he would nip, his teeth dragging across her porcelain skin, her hips pressing against his; and he would react in kind, pressing back, growling more, whispering her name between their syncopated pants. Hot and heavy was an understatement. They were burning in a blaze caused purely by the friction of their flesh. And he wanted nothing more than to scorch from the flames. He would melt if that’s what it took, be putty under her hands, under her tongue, under the smooth curves of her body as it pressed into his.

 

His need was more akin to a craving for her. An addiction. An all consuming thought that he simply couldn’t shake - not that he wanted to - he never wanted to be rid of the way his skin smoldered as it met hers.

 

Their clothes littered the hallway, strewn haphazardly along the stairs and the corridor; and when he finally dropped her on the bed, the last few pieces of their undergarments _had_ to come off. He needed her then, like a moth to a flame. He needed her more than he needed himself, and the way her body answered to his bruising grip said she needed him just the same.

 

As he drug her lace panties slowly down her lean legs, he peppered kisses across the alabaster skin, his mouth savoring every delicious inch of her flesh before coming back up.

 

_Slowly at first_

_And then all at once_

 

That was exactly what he wanted to do to her, build her up, break her down, pick up her pieces and start all over again. Moving at a pace nearly too painful for his already erect cock, he finally reached the apex of her thighs, pausing for just a moment to breathe over her throbbing clit. She was pulsing with the same need he felt thumping in his own veins and he just wanted one taste. One taste turned into two and soon his mouth sealed over her most sensitive spot as she cried out. Her nails scraped trails along his scalp as she panted his name like a benediction, like it was the only word she knew; and before long, with no other assistance, her arousal coated his tongue as her thighs clenched - hard.

 

The fingers still threaded through his locks gripped tighter, pulling him up into a bruising kiss. As their tongues tangled, he trailed his hand up the curves of her side and reached around to grapple with a hook for only a moment before stripping off her lacy bra altogether.

 

Without a stitch of clothing on her supple skin, his hands roamed every inch they could reach, gripping, kneading, studying her flesh with his fingertips.

 

Pulling back slightly, he surveyed the sight of her sprawled across his sheets. He had dreamed about her far too many nights, and yet, even the vision she was in his dreams paled to the sight of her body writhing beneath his touch.

 

She reached up again, fingers raking through his hair and tugging him forward with a soft, “c'mere.” As his tongue slipped into her mouth, a groan vibrated through her chest. He knew she could taste herself and the reaction that elicited caused him to stiffen painfully. Settling his frame over hers, he felt her legs hitch around his hips as one hand dropped between them trailing downward. Once her fingertips skimmed the outline of his erection, he damn near growled against her lips before sucking one in between his teeth and tugging on the swollen flesh. Her hand palmed his length and he gasped, trailing kisses down her jaw, behind the sensitive skin just below her ear and stopping at the crook of her neck. His tongue laved the skin before his lips sealed over it and he felt her hand moving between them again.

 

She pulled at the waistband of his boxers and he leaned back to shed them, too, leaving a dark purple bruise in his wake. “Do you have protection?”

 

With a quick tilt of his head to the side, she got the picture and pulled back as he leaned over to reach his side table and retrieve the foil wrapped package. Gripping it between his teeth, he tore it open and slid it on quickly.

 

Within seconds he settled between her legs again, his length pressed along her slit flat between them. Glancing down at her, he saw her bottom lip trapped between her teeth, gnawing at the flesh as her eyelashes fluttered from the pressure. She raised her hips, sliding him along the already slick flesh of her heat and he groaned.

 

With one hand, he reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear before trailing his fingertips along her jaw. He trapped her chin between his thumb and forefinger and their gazes locked. “Tell me what you want, baby.” His voice was so rough he barely recognized it. Inching his thumb up, he tapped on her lip and she released it obediently.

 

“You.” Between the thick texture of her voice uttering that single word and the way her hips canted up to caress him again, his hips pressed forward.

 

“Mmmmm,” he hummed, “be more specific.”

 

His hips were dragging slowly against hers and every now and then, she would press into him harder, and he would pull back slightly, teasing her with the pressure as he felt her arousal gathering.

 

Her hands slid up, over his arms, around his shoulders, her fingers sinking into his hair and pulling him down to her as she cocked his head to the side. The feeling of her hot breath fanning over the shell of his ear was enough to shatter his facade of dominance,  but the words she uttered ultimately did him in. “When I was alone, and I’d hear you pant into the phone, I imagined what you’d feel like.”

 

He pressed forward again, harder this time, feeling the way her lips aligned against him.

 

“It always started the same,” she said in a breathy whisper. Her hand reached down between them and she guided him to her entrance, pressing the tip against the opening, teasing him with the flick of her wrist. “You’d push into me slowly,” her hips rose with her words and he felt the pressure of her walls around him. Every time she throbbed, he sunk in deeper, twitching inside of her in response. “Once you were inside,” she paused as he buried himself entirely, “you’d pull back so slowly I’d feel every centimeter.” He did as she recalled, earning him whimpers and gasps as his hips retreated before pressing into her again. “What did you imagine?” she said on an exhale, trailing her hands down to his shoulder blades and raking her nails downward.

 

Thinking back on her words, he repeated them to himself again.

_Slowly at first, and then all at once._

 

He leaned down again, mimicking her movements and ghosting his lips over her ear. “I thought about how you’d feel wrapped around me. About all the ways I could make you come until you couldn’t breathe.” The pace was quickening and she panted as he thrust. One hand reached down to cup her breast, tweaking the nipple between his fingertips and she mewled. “I thought about these,” he said, kneading at her breast. “I thought about what you might sound like if I bit them.” She gasped and he wanted to push further. “Do you want me to do that, baby? Do you want me to bite you?”

 

He didn’t even have to twist his head to feel her nodding vigorously. His hips were steadily thrusting, meeting hers in a hurried pace as his lips trailed downward, over her jaw, down her throat, across her chest before his tongue circled her nipple. The other hand was already cupping the opposite side of her chest and pinching her nipple when his teeth found purchase on the other peak.

 

When her hips rocked harder against him, he did it again, this time harder and she moaned. He felt her walls begin to flutter and he wasn’t sure how much longer he would last so he trailed his mouth across her chest and repeated the motion. Her hips were jerking beneath him when one hand trailed down between them and his thumb pressed to her clit.

 

His name dripped from her lips in time with her release and he fell over the edge of his own climax with her final clench. He felt her coat him and he helped her work through it with slow, lazy thrusts of his hips.

 

Their chests were heaving, covered in a thin layer of sweat when he leaned down to kiss her, soft and slow, languidly moving his tongue in and out of her mouth as they both came down.

 

“You’re incredible,” he whispered, trailing his fingertips along her hairline.

 

Her face was still pink, skin still dewy, but when she batted her thick eyelashes at him, and her emerald eyes sparkled, he thought he had never seen anyone more beautiful in his life.

 

“You’re pretty amazing yourself, Juggie,” she cooed, pulling him down on top of her and wrapping her arms around his torso. She was trailing her hands up and down his back when he kissed her again.

 

-

 

They both cleaned up and he tugged her into the shower for another round against the tile as their moans echoed through the bathroom. By the time they finally laid down it was nearly 1 am and despite the early hour, he stayed up another hour with her, talking, flirting, and basking in her presence. She fell asleep before he did.

 

Jughead had been telling her about his latest novel and where his hold up was with the publishing. He told her he’d nearly finished the entire first draft but something about it just felt off. Other than being more of a byproduct of his publisher’s wishes than his own, the narrative just wasn’t connecting. She’d offered to read it and asked for a  summary when her eyes finally shut. “Yeah, seemed pretty boring to me, too, baby. I think it needs something more,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead before settling back into his pillow.

 

Since the day before when she posted it, her poem hadn’t been far from his mind.

 

_I’m immersed in your memory_

_Floating in your promises_

_Lost to you_

_No longer my own_

  
She said she’d be his, but he knew he already was hers. They didn’t have a definite label, and to be honest, at their age, he wasn’t sure they really needed one. But one thing _was_ certain, he wasn’t his own, and it didn’t bother him in the least.

 

 

*

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo, what'd you guys think?
> 
> Leave me a comment & let me know please!
> 
> Find me on tumblr @bugggghead


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